iridescent wings

Amidst the pain, 

it feels like her body has distorted

into fun-house mirror shapes.

But when anonymous sterile hands

place his wailing crimson form into her arms, 

all sensations transmute

into one singular motion

of one tiny belly that draws air 

through one tiny nose.

The focus of her thoughts is so finite.

She nets it like a butterfly

before it flits away 

through placental confusion.

Clutches it to her chest for days,

eventually pins it to a square

she cut from a cereal box. Sighs wistfully

as she places it in a chest 

with a few choice polaroids

and his first pair of shoes.

She closes her eyes, then opens them. 

It is the night of his twenty-first birthday.

He stumbles through the doorway, 

drunk on visions of manhood, embarrassed 

when he notices her rise from a nearby armchair. 

But she only wants to press a dusty piece of cardboard 

into his hands and guide him to his bed.

Wants to tuck the covers close, to watch 

the flashing reflection of iridescent wings 

as his eyes flutter closed.